


For Saints Have Hands

by Mercurie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Fluff, Hand Kink, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-02
Updated: 2010-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurie/pseuds/Mercurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's got a thing for Castiel's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Saints Have Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Dean fantasizes about Castiel's hands. Particularly those lovely long fingers of his. ;)"

In retrospect, Dean thought, it started when Castiel pushed him up against that wall and covered his mouth with one hard palm. Under the circumstances, he barely had time to register the feel of warm skin and the slight taste of salt before things went pear-shaped. He'd thought nothing of it at the time. But soon he began to notice that he'd acquired a … fixation of sorts.

_Hands_. Specifically: Castiel's. Big, well-proportioned hands with nimble fingers. Long and elegant like you'd expect a pianist to have. The perfect size to get a solid grip on somebody's ass. And they were going completely to waste. Castiel, who wore Jimmy's body with all the enthusiasm of a teenager forced to dress up in her grandmother's clothes, seemed content to let them dangle uselessly at his sides like some kind of inert crab claw. It was criminal. As a hunter, Dean considered it his job to right wrongs wherever he found them.

"Hey, Cas, I think my tag is sticking out. Can you check it for me?"

"Cas, I've got an eyelash stuck on my cheek again."

"Am I missing a button here?"

"Damn, it's fucking freezing out here. Aren't your hands cold?"

Okay, so he was running out of excuses. Worse, his obsession was escalating. Every time he caught a glimpse of the brand on his arm, his mind jumped right to the image of angel handprints all over him. _All_ over him. The area just below his navel was a favorite spot. Cas' palm could probably span the distance from his belly button to… yeah. Easily. He pictured those fingers on his thighs, drawing ghostly lines up and down. That kept him busy for a day or so.

And then he had the idea. It was the kind of filthy brilliant idea Dean prided himself on. It was _perfect_.

"You would like me to… what?" Castiel asked.

"Pray with me," Dean said. "I mean, you know… the world is ending. I gotta keep my bases covered. Just in case."

"Very well," Castiel said after a moment's hesitation.

"Thing is, I've never done it before. And I want to make sure I get it right so I don't accidentally piss God off even more or anything. I figured you could tell me what to do."

Castiel nodded. "It's simple enough. First you get on your knees." He demonstrated, sinking down before Dean onto the dingy floor of the motel room.

A decidedly unreligious spark of excitement warmed Dean's stomach.

He knelt down, facing the angel.

"Then you put your palms together," Castiel said.

Dean held up his hands in feigned confusion.

"Like this," Castiel said, bringing Dean's hands together and covering them with his own.

Cas may have said something else, but Dean was too focused on the feel of fingers resting against his own to pay attention. Cas' thumb was hooked around his wrist like… a leg hooked around hips.

"Dean!"

"What?" He forced himself back to reality.

"It's counterproductive to sin while praying."

"… what?" he said with, he had to admit, unconvincing innocence.

"I know you're not interested in prayer, Dean. This has just been another excuse to touch me. You've been quite deliberately clasping my hands as often as possible recently."

"Clasping?" Dean said with a dismissive laugh. "No way, dude, what do you think of me? I would never… clasp you."

Castiel slid his hands slowly down Dean's forearms. Caught off guard, Dean gasped; and Castiel moved like an adder, darting in close so that he was practically sitting in Dean's lap. He pressed one hand against Dean's forehead as if exorcising a demon.

"Liar," he said. The back of his hand slipped down Dean's face, outside of his thumb brushing against Dean's open lips. The other hand rested in the hollow of Dean's throat, fingerpads tracing the ridge of his collarbone through his T-shirt. Dean's eyes fluttered shut.

For a moment, he felt the angel's breath on his cheek. Then there was only the sound of wings and he opened his eyes to an empty room.

He stumbled to the bathroom, half-expecting to see handprints marking his skin. There was nothing visible; but the memory of light fingers lingered as if he'd brushed up against something too pure to fade.


End file.
